Ieri guardavo in tv la bella manifestazione di Libertà e Giustizia , facce pulite, gente perbene, intellettuali, la parte migliore dell'Italia; anche se, come al solito, alla sacrosanta richiesta di dimissioni non corrisponde un'alternativa concreta e spendibile politicamente. Poi, la sera, mi sono imbattuto in alcune scene de La corrida .
Sono rimasto stupito di fronte alla gran quantità di figurette provinciali, che sembravano uscite dall'Italia degli anni '50, pronti a immolarsi in mediocri esibizioni. Operai in pensione, disoccupati, estetiste e lavoratori ortofrutticoli sfidano i fischi e i campanacci riproponendo improbabili danze popolari, facendo the raspberries with the arms, imitating the animals from their fields or playing "friscalettu" Sicilian. They were happy: the very fact of having brought their faltering performance from the home dining room, or the festival of festivals, in the glittering world of television made their eyes delighted and satisfied.
They are our countrymen, as we vote. And 'why "La Corrida" is a treatise on sociology: the immense Italian province where, for technical reasons or cultural or personal data, internet and do not even know what a book or a newspaper is a mysterious object, the charm blue the small screen have a decisive influence not only in information, but in the transmission model of behavior. Again, we talk about good people, not criminals or thieves, but afflicted by the weight of a heavy and vulgar ignorance, which does not allow them to have the basic tools to try to understand the world around them. I am overwhelmed by the instincts, their horizon is limited, they think with their stomachs, often expressed in an Italian unsteady.
The comforting illusion of the afternoon was dissolved desolate at night: there is only Palasharp, there are only Umberto Eco and Gustavo Zagrebelsky. Next to the civilized and educated middle class, there is another mass less visible, certainly more numerous and, above all, dangerous as an underground river flowing underground, and from time to time, re-emerges strongly in the surface. Smile wink bar in the suburbs talking about football and women line up smadonnando post offices, go to the pharmacy to buy medicines from the state of which they have no need and then throw away, look with suspicion ancestral shrines and libraries, idly waiting for lunch and dinner or hang around the square in front of the TV trolley. It 'an army of lesser lives, apparent caricatures of an Italy harmless simple, illiterate poor bastards back. Taken one at a time, folk and pure humanity, it is inevitable to sympathize with the idiots of the country. Taken together, make a country di scemi.
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